


Time On My Hands

by circ_bamboo



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people Pike didn’t want to discuss his love life with (but did anyway) and one where very little discussion was necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time On My Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secretsolitaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsolitaire/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Make Me Believe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/274583) by [circ_bamboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo). 



> From a prompt/question by secretsolitaire. Enjoy! Starts about six months after [Make Me Believe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/274583) and [Where You’re Meant To Be](http://archiveofourown.org/works/286529). It probably won't make sense without having read MMB but WYMTB isn’t necessary knowledge. It’s true, I’m vaguely embarrassed at writing a five-and-one. And, oh god, not going to lie: the title is from an Elton John song because nothing else fit. Thanks, brain.

_one: One_

With a final jab at the padd, Chris Pike finished grading the twenty-seventh paper of the group, and hit ‘send’ to transmit the grade on that paper to the central grading server. _Only forty-five more to go_ , he thought, and groaned, head in his hands. He didn’t mind reading student work, per se; it was sometimes insightful and often unintentionally hilarious. He just hated having to make useful comments, and once in a while--like Paper Number Twenty-Seven--he’d come upon a student whose privilege glasses were so far on that the only response he could think of was to send the kid the un-redacted version of his dissertation. Of course he didn’t, but it took him four or five times as long to get something useful that didn’t involve colorful uses of four-letter words.

Nonetheless, he sighed when his alert beeped to indicate a visitor. It could be a student, in which case he’d have to put on the Professor Face and pretend that he didn’t want to throw things through the window, or it could be any of a hundred other people and he’d have to put on an entirely different face that he still didn’t want to do. Either way, he said, “Computer, who is it?” and when the British-accented tones (senior class prank) answered him, he smiled. “Let her in.”

“Admiral Pike.”

“Captain Number One,” he said, standing as the door shut behind his former XO. “Since we’re apparently being formal today.” She grinned, and he continued. “When did you get back?”

“About four in the morning, San Francisco time,” she said, and came around the side of his desk to offer him a hug.

He took it; wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, probably holding on longer than he should. When he let go, she raised an eyebrow at him, and he flushed. “Sorry. It’s--”

“I don’t mind,” One said. “Unexpected, maybe. That Dr. McCoy of yours appears to be doing good for you.” She smiled.

“Yeah,” he said, and felt his face grow even warmer. “The _Enterprise_ just left a couple weeks ago. I’m probably a little touch-starved or something.” He looked down and fiddled with a stylus.

“Chris, it’s not a problem.” She shrugged. “Cait seems to think that even at this late date, it’s her job to socialize me in some sort of North-American Terran sort of way.”

“It’s not as if you didn’t know what you were getting into with her,” Chris pointed out as he sat back down in his chair; she perched on the edge of his desk.

One smiled. “That’s true.” She leaned forward and ruffled his hair, making both of them laugh. “So, I’ve been in the Laurentian system for the last year and a half, and about all I know is that you’re walking again and that you took up with the new CMO of the _Enterprise_. I’ll buy you Thai if you fill in the details.”

“It’s a deal,” Chris said.

Half an hour later they were splitting an order of massaman curry (no rice for him) and a side of curry puffs. She selected another piece of potato and ate it before saying, “So.”

“So,” Chris said, in agreement. The food was awfully good, and the lack of rice made it spicier than usual, which mitigated the difference between One’s comfort level and his.

She smiled. “Are you going to fill in the aforementioned details, or do I have to ask?”

Chris laughed. “Okay, okay.” He sighed.

About twenty minutes later, he’d told One more about his rehab than he ever really had told anyone else, and eventually she stopped him with a gentle gesture. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing so well, but please, tell me about Dr. McCoy. You seem happy.”

“I am,” he said, the response automatic, but no less true. “He’s . . . I don’t know how to describe him. A good man, certainly A good doctor. Good for me.” He felt his face growing warm again. This was . . . not something he usually discussed with exes, even ones like Number One. Actually, it wasn’t something he discussed with _anyone_. Apparently that had changed.

“He’d better be.” She raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of her glass, mischievously. “I hope he’s good in the sack, as well.”

The comment was pure, unadulterated Caitlin Barry, and so unlike One that he sputtered, water almost coming out of his nose. He suppressed a brief spike of panic, closing his eyes and swallowing. When he opened them, she looked faintly worried, her eyebrows knit together, but he shook his head briefly, and she nodded.

“Fantastic,” he said when he could, a few moments later. “Not that it’s a damn bit of your business. I don’t ask how things are going between you and Cait, do I?”

“If you wanted to know anything, Cait would likely tell you,” One said, and they both laughed.

 _two: Liz_

“The _Enterprise_ has been gone for a month,” Liz said, at a lull in one of their weekly appointments-cum-conversations.

“And how does that make me feel?” Chris said, rolling his eyes.

“Sure,” Liz said. “How _does_ that make you feel?” She grinned.

“Somewhat worried,” he said, giving her the professional answer. “It’s a young crew, and even though they’ve done the shakedown cruise, I’m still wondering when they’ll come up against--well, against some of the stuff I came up against when I was out there.”

“And how does Chris feel?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes again. Sometimes the whole construct of Admiral Pike vs. Chris made perfect sense, and sometimes it made him want to snap something horribly sarcastic at his (wonderful, patient, long-suffering) therapist. “Chris feels like his personal life went off-limits when he got back to some sort of acceptable level of--” She hated it when he said _crazy_ , so he amended it to “--equilibrium.”

“That’s fair,” she said. “But if you ever want to talk about it, any of it, you know I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Chris said. Goddamnit. Dirty little manipulator. She knew all his buttons and could play him like a goddamn concertina. Sometimes he hated her, and Phil, who had specifically chosen her to be his therapist, and Starfleet for hiring her in the first place. “I miss him and I still hate long-distance relationships,” he said finally, boiling down a lot of complicated thoughts down as far as he could.

Liz, at least, had the grace not to look like the cat that had caught the canary, but he could still feel a wave or two of smugness emanating from her general direction.

 _three: Winona_

“So, my son tells me he’ll be gone for a full year again,” Winona Kirk said over coffee. Well, she was drinking coffee--Chris was drinking some sort of herbal tea thing that was normally apparently ordered by Vulcans and people on psychoactive and neuro-suppressant drugs. “Almost ten more months. That’s a long time.”

They’d been chit-chatting about various topics--mostly Federation and ‘fleet politics--for the last fifteen or twenty minutes, but the studied-casual air with which she delivered the seemingly-random statement was unmistakably an opening line for . . . something. “I’m an instructor. I can’t affect their orders.” He set his cup of whatever-it-was on the table between them and leaned back against the wall.

She chuckled. “Chris, I’ve known you on and off since you were a scrawny cadet taking the ‘fleet by storm. Even then, I’m sure you could have called two people and changed _something_. I mean, other than the fact that it would be a little bit unethical, now.”

He raised an eyebrow and decided not to challenge the ‘scrawny’ comment. “Regardless. I doubt you invited me out for coffee to ask me to shorten the _Enterprise_ ’s mission length. What’s going on, Winona?” They’d never been close, mostly due to the circumstances under which they’d met--research for his dissertation on the _Kelvin_ \--but they’d always been friendly. This was, nonetheless, odd.

She shrugged. “Jim dragged McCoy home for a few holidays while they were at the Academy.”

“Yeah?” Chris said, when she didn’t go on. “You don’t need to threaten me; your son beat you to it by, oh, about eight months.”

“Did he,” Winona said, and burst out laughing. “And here I was thinking I had to because he wouldn’t, you being his hero and all.”

“Oh, please,” he said, pleased and embarrassed that Jim would look up to him as more than just an advisor. “Jim came and had the talk with me before we were even--” He waved a hand in the air generally.

“Sleeping together?” she suggested sweetly.

“That,” he said. Well, hell, it was true, and they weren’t doing a particularly good job at hiding it. Still-- “Which we are _not_ talking about.”

Jim Kirk barely listened to him when he did the Captain Voice (maybe it was now the Admiral Voice), so he had no idea why he expected Winona Kirk to do anything but laugh at him.

When she recovered her breath, she said, “Okay, we won’t talk about it. Especially since, last I checked, Leonard’s finally _happy_. Other than the long-distance problem.”

“Yeah?” He couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice or, judging by the look on Winona’s face, soft and bizarrely maternal, off his own face.

She knew better than to touch him, apparently, because he could see that she wanted to, but just turned her hand over on the tabletop, making it either a gesture or an offer. “Yeah,” she said.

He put his unused spoon in her hand, and she laughed. “Anyway,” she said, “now that you’re family, Chanukah’s at the place in Iowa. I’ll be off-planet for Rosh Hashanah, so you’re on your own for that.” She stood and tossed a couple credit chips on the table.

 _Family?_ “I’m not Jewish,” he said as she collected her coat.

She gave him a look.

“I do like latkes,” he said. _Crap. Maybe it won’t overlap with Christmas._

“Good.”

 _four: Phil_

“Can I crash here for a few days?” Chris asked, trying to keep his tone light. It was lunchtime, after all, and one of the virtues of being a professor was that he actually got to take real lunch breaks, at home. Or, well, at the Cortez-Boyce home. Alas, Alicia did not, which left him alone with Phil and Phil’s cooking.

“Sure,” Phil said, as Chris had known he would. “Something wrong?” He passed Chris the salsa verde.

Chris shook his head. “No, just . . . you know.”

“Right,” Phil said. A few minutes later, he said, “You know, I do have some idea of what you’re going through.” He and Alicia hadn’t always been posted together, although Starfleet did try.

“I know,” Chris said. “I’ve . . . tried to do this before.”

Phil looked up at him and tipped his head to one side. “No, I don’t think you did. Not like this.”

Chris thought about it for a moment; let himself think about Leonard the way he normally just _didn’t_ , and felt the sharp ache in his chest right where it had been for the last eight months. If felt like it had always been there, but--well, goddamnit, Phil was right again. Sure, every lover was new and different, but no, he missed Leonard with the strength he might feel if he were separated from Phil for a long time but the sweetness of, well, more like Number One, and with a twist all McCoy’s own.

“No,” he said in agreement. “Not like this.”

 _five: a stranger_

“Well, hello, there.”

Chris winced. He’d never really liked people speaking suddenly behind him, and the hypersensitivity didn’t make it any better. He waited for the bartender to hand him his drink and Phil’s--a virgin screwdriver, otherwise known as a glass of orange juice, for him and a glass full of olives, supposedly a dirty martini, for Phil--before turning to the speaker. Plastering a bland smile on his face, he said, “Hello.”

“Mmm, just as good head on as in profile.”

“Ah, thanks,” Chris said. The person who had spoken to him was--well, actually, he didn’t have a bead on either gender or species, although zie was undeniably well-groomed and well-dressed and probably very attractive. He’d always been fond of that shade of purple.

“Care to buy me a drink?” zie asked, leaning on the bar in what was, had zie been Terran, a decidedly seductive fashion.

“Thanks,” he said, feeling like a malfunctioning sound file, “but no thanks.” He held up the two drinks he’d gotten from the bartender. Two meant he’d left his cane over by the table and couldn’t escape quickly, or what passed for quickly anymore, but if he was lucky, Phil would notice and give him an out.

“Ahh,” zie said. “Alas. The gorgeous ones are always taken. And monogamous?” The last, as old-fashioned of a word as it was, was delivered wistfully.

“Yes, monogamous.” He smiled. “If you’ll excuse me?”

They’d talked about it, he and Leonard, and after some entirely-logical discussions about career trajectories and whatnot, both had finally admitted that they just plain didn’t _want_ anyone else. Ten months of separation and nothing had changed. It wasn’t as much of a surprise as it probably should have been.

He made his very slow way over to Phil and Alicia and said, “I hate diplomatic evenings.”

“I don’t know, Chris,” Phil said. “Zie _was_ a nice shade of purple.”

Chris laughed.

 _and one: McCoy_

Because it was the _Enterprise_ ’s second return to earth, and because they were around for only a few weeks, HQ didn’t bother to schedule the ship to return at any PR-friendly hour. So they got back at two in the morning on a Thursday, and by the time everything was done and the doors finally closed behind Chris and Leonard in Chris’s apartment, it was a little past 0500 and Chris was _tired_ , so tired.

He fell into Leonard’s arms, burying his face against his neck. “I love you,” he said, which wasn’t what he meant to say; he’d meant to say, _I missed you_. Although both were true. “I missed you,” he added.

“Missed you too,” Leonard said, voice rough. “Love you too. Bed? For sleeping.”

“Yes, please,” Chris said, even though he _wanted_ , so badly, for it to be for some other reason. McCoy probably knew, based on the half-smile he gave, but it was completely the wrong time. They made their way to the bedroom, shed clothes carelessly, and curled up together, skin on skin. Finally.

He fell asleep almost instantly, and woke up about six hours later; the chrono by the bed said it was just short of 1100. Thank goodness they both had the day off. He watched Leonard sleep for a moment, contemplated waking him up with a kiss, but decided he should brush his teeth first. Slipping out of bed carefully, he padded over to the bathroom, took care of the basics, and, when the door opened, saw Leonard waiting to do the same. He smiled, gave him an _it’s all yours_ gesture, and went back to lie on the bed, ordering the windows translucent.

“Morning,” Leonard said, a couple minutes later, as he re-entered the room. He slid back between the sheets and into Chris’s arms, and both men sighed at the contact.

“So I have something for you,” Chris said, a few long moments later.

“Oh?” Leonard said, and slid a hand under the sheets.

Chris gasped, and said, “No, not _that_. Well, not yet.”

“Somethin’ else?” Leonard said, letting go.

“Yeah,” Chris said. He could feel his heart speeding up, and only mostly in a good way. Tipping his face up, he pressed his mouth to Leonard’s--and then opened it, touching the tip of his tongue to Leonard’s upper lip.

Leonard sucked in a huge breath through his nose and pulled away, maybe half a centimeter. “Tell me what I need to know.” His words were hot against Chris’s skin.

“Careful,” Chris said. “Like we’re in middle school and just trying to figure out if this is disgusting or not.”

He felt Leonard’s laugh more than heard it. “Okay.”

It did feel a little like middle school, complete with the little rill of anxiety running down his spine, not really allowing him to relax enough to enjoy it fully. On the other hand, the excitement almost made up for it, as did the look on Leonard’s face when they broke for air. “We’ll have to practice,” Chris said.

“I am all for that,” Leonard said, and leaned back in for round two.

“That’s not all,” Chris said in another lull.

“Oh?”

Chris just smiled. This had actually been easier to practice than the kissing. He kissed Leonard’s collarbone, the middle of his chest, and was working his way down to his navel when Leonard’s hand on his shoulder made him pause.

“Really?” Leonard said, eyes wide and, if Chris wasn’t mistaken, absolutely blown with lust. Desire. Both, and more.

“Just tell me when you’re close, and don’t thrust,” he said, and Leonard nodded. Chris wrapped his hand around the base of Leonard’s erection, took the head in his mouth, and sucked.

Ohhh, he’d missed this. Missed Leonard, obviously, and missed sex with him, but also, he’d always liked giving head back before . . . stuff. He didn’t mind the taste, but more than that, he liked the intimacy of being that close to someone else. After a year of going without any sort of physical intimacy, it was nearly intoxicating.

Also intoxicating was the fact that _he could do this_. He had control--despite the symphony of gasps and moans coming from the head of the bed, Leonard barely moved at all--and the anxiety had subsided into general excitement. And, as he rubbed his tongue just under the head, some very specific arousal. He hooked his feet over the edge of the bed and sucked a little harder.

Leonard gasped and tapped Chris’s shoulder quickly. “Too close, too soon,” he said, voice harsh and vowels sliding around.

“Not too soon,” Chris said, as he pushed back up the bed and wrapped his hand around Leonard again. “No such thing.” He stroked, slowly at first and then picking up the speed quickly.

Not more than a few moments later, Leonard’s body shook, then stiffened, and he cried out as he came.

Maybe it was that it had been a full year apart, or maybe the sheer relief of success with everything he’d worked on, but he very nearly came himself when Leonard did. He pushed it back, though, and buried his nose in Leonard’s neck, resting his hand on his chest.

“Wow,” Leonard said, a few minutes later. “Just . . . wow.”

“Yeah?” Chris said, muffled against Leonard’s shoulder.

“Oh, yes,” Leonard said, and he sounded exhausted and decidedly satisfied. “Love you. Are we sayin’ that now, or only when you’re so tired you can’t think straight?”

“Well, if not, you’re post-orgasmic, so you have an excuse,” Chris said, but he could feel his hands beginning to shake more than usual.

Leonard had gotten pretty good at reading Chris by the end of their not-quite-six months together, so it probably shouldn’t have surprised him when Leonard brought up a hand up to cover his. “We don’t have to, but I hope you know it’s true.”

Chris had to cough before he could speak. “Yeah,” he said. “You too.”

“Mmm,” Leonard said, and Chris could hear the smile. “So what about you?”

“What about me?” Chris asked.

“What are you up for?”

Chris pushed his hips forward just a bit, and said, “You.”

“You got me. Now, what are you gonna do with me?”

“Oh,” Chris said, rolling himself on top of Leonard, “I’m sure I can think of something.”


End file.
